


Whiskey Lullaby

by hanyou_elf



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Tony drinks.  Sometimes Steve takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **_iridescent-nonreality_** on tumblr for the Stony Secret Santa. 
> 
> Beta by the ever amazing and perpetually mewling quim, zhem1x5. All remaining mistakes are my own. Happy Holidays!

Tony was drunk. Steve knew he shouldn’t have been surprised because it was a common thing in the last few weeks, but Tony had taken it to an extreme tonight. He had two bottles around his feet, and a half-empty bottle he was waving around in his hand. He was gesticulating wildly, his eyes wide with mania, but the bags under them told a story of exhaustion. He had been in the lab for hours, close to a full day, and Steve knew that Tony was exhausted, knew that he was worn down to the bare bones and strung out. He wasn’t sure how Tony was still awake after so long with so much alcohol in his system. 

But Tony wasn’t just drunk. He was ranting and raving, anger and frustration oozing out of every inch of his compact but lithe body. His hair was a rampant mess, his hands were filthy and he had cuts and scratches on his arms. His jeans were horrible looking. Tony looked like he was waiting for a strong wind to just knock him down. But that didn’t stop his tirade.

Steve stepped into the room and crossed his arms over his chest before he interrupted the tirade. “Tony?” 

“The fuck you want?” Tony slurred as he rounded on the soldier, pointing with the bottle. His voice was deep and growling. He swayed lethargically on his feet once he grounded himself again. “Mr. Perfect perfect pants, come to gloat like he needs to remind us all just how special he is,” Tony mocked, waving his hands in the air.

“I came to take you to bed,” Steve sighed in response. 

“I’m not fucking you. You’re everything dad wanted. Everything all perfect and sweet and honorable,” Tony sneered. He stepped forward uncertainly and it was obvious his words were mocking and gleaned from phrases he’d heard in the past, but they still hurt. “Everything good about people. The best man to have ever walked the earth. Taken too soon by an accident and horrible circumstances. ‘God, Tony, why aren’t you more like the Captain?’” 

“Tony,” Steve sighed. It hurt to think that young Tony had heard those words. Especially when the truth was anything but. He hated seeing Tony like this, but he hated self-pity more and Tony’s personal party had been going on for quite some time apparently. 

“What? You disappointed? Gonna knock me off of the team too? Because you should. What’s the point in letting the spoiled little bitch with the armor on play with the big guys? Should fuckin’ call Rhodey in so you have a good little soldier you can order around. That’s what you want in the end. Some obedient little bitch you can order around and know is gonna listen to you,” Tony huffed. He turned on his heel and sauntered across the small living room floor he’d had installed in Steve’s suite before he lifted bruised brown eyes up and blinked slowly at him. “I’m not worth it.” 

“You are though. I don’t… Tony, you need to sleep,” Steve finally breathed. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the wounded eyes, at the overwhelming exhaustion on the handsome face. It was nearly too much. 

“I’m not sleeping. I’ll pass out after the next bottle,” he cheered as he showed off the last quarter of the bottle in his hands. He looked at it with surprise and lifted it to his lips to take a giant swig. 

“Damnit, Tony,” Steve sighed again. He looked away from the other man and let his arms fall. “You can’t do this. What’s wrong?” 

“You know what happened to me this week?” Tony asked instead. 

“No. Why don’t you tell me,” Steve suggested. 

“Because you wouldn’t understand. Not Mr. Can’t Do Anything Wrong. Perfect hair and perfect life and paragon of everything good and noble and honorable.” 

“I wasn’t always Captain America, Tony,” Steve shrugged. “I was an orphan, a soldier, and spent time as a homeless man. I’m not that comic book character.” 

“Listen to dad talk one day,” Tony snorted. He lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of it down. When he noticed it was empty, he shook the bottle sadly before he sat it on the floor with the other two. He stalked angrily to the medium sized cooler he’d apparently brought with him and pulled another bottle out, whiskey from what Steve could tell. “He loved everything about you.”

“It’s all just stories,” Steve shrugged. “Why are you getting drunk enough to pass out?” 

“Because this is the day that the lovely Raza invited me into his comfortable cave,” Tony sneered. He fought with the lid to open the bottle and snarled at the burn of liquor that flooded him. 

He was too quick to drown himself and it made Steve worry for him. Because he knew how badly alcoholism could end up. Could affect the drinker and those around him. He didn’t want to see Tony doing something stupid, and he really wished there was something that he could do to make Tony stop. 

“You’re not there anymore,” Steve murmured softly. 

“I’m never fucking leaving,” Tony countered. He swallowed another mouthful and groaned as he swayed. He licked his lips as he strode purposefully to the small couch he’d been pacing around and settled heavily into the soft cushions. 

“You’re in New York, Tony.”

“I know where the fuck I’m at,” Tony snarled. He settled the bottle between his legs and rubbed his face with his hands in frustrated exhaustion. 

“You’re not there anymore,” he repeated. 

“Raza was very good at what he did,” Tony said instead. 

He dropped his hands into his lap and looked wearily at Steve. His eyes were tired and worn down and Steve wanted to find a way to help him just rest. It had taken him weeks, months, to get to know Tony enough to see beyond the façade he carried around him like his armor. He was both businessman and media persona. He had to be strong and certain, and this Tony was anything but.

“He couldn’t get you again,” Steve murmured. He stepped into the room finally and braced his big hands on the back of the chair across the room from Tony’s couch. He looked down at the engineer and smiled sadly, just a slight quirk of his lips. 

“You know when dad died, I got Obie,” Tony smiled. It was an ugly smile, distorted and wry. “And you know I trusted him with everything.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. He shifted and tried to make himself as non-threatening as possible. Tony was making confessions and he needed to listen.

“Obie sold me to Raza because I was a threat to him. He couldn’t see any more benefits from keeping me around. I was supposed to die,” Tony confessed. “I was supposed to be shot or something. Anything.” 

He stopped and took another long drink from the bottle. He groaned as he sneered at the burn of the alcohol. Dark eyes blinked up at the ceiling as he laid his head back along the couch in an attempt to merge with the furniture. Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t move. He couldn’t, not yet. He couldn’t spook Tony, not when he was sharing so much of himself with Steve, something he’d never done before. 

“I didn’t die,” he said finally. “I’m too stubborn. Or stupid, if you’d asked the old man.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t die,” Steve said softly. 

“God, you’re such a sap,” Tony grunted. He draped an arm over his eyes and sighed heavily. “You don’t even know how much I wanted to hate you.” 

“It would have been okay,” Steve shrugged. People had hated him his entire life. He had never been loved by everyone around him and it had never bothered him.

“I don’t hate you though,” Tony offered. He shifted again on the couch and the bottle between his legs tilted dangerously. “I think… I don’t even know. Why did dad like you so much?”

“Let me have the bottle,” Steve suggested. Tony was wearing down, exhaustion finally getting the better of him. He didn’t want him to fall asleep on the couch and spill the alcohol. 

“You can’t,” he protested and wrapped a scarred, filthy hand around the neck of the bottle. “I’m drinking it and I don’t share. Fury’ll tell you all about my self-centered narcissism.” 

Steve sighed again, he’d been doing that a lot with Tony, and came around the chair to kneel in front of him. He put his hand over Tony’s and repeated, “Let me have the bottle.” 

Tony glared at him. He looked angry and furious and exhausted, like the only thing that he wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t because he would miss something important. He looked like the soldier Steve had seen in camp after long campaign pushes, when they were finally settling down to relax in the faux comfort of the thin tents. He looked like Bucky after he’d been rescued from Zola and Schmidt: haunted and terrified of the very air around him but too stubborn to admit to needing help or assistance or anything at all. 

“Why the fuck’d you come back anyway?” Tony asked petulantly. He pulled the bottle to his lips, Steve’s hand going along for the movements. “You just. God, Steve, you don’t even know, do you?” he asked after he swallowed a mouthful.

“Tell me.” 

“You’re such a goodie two-shoes. You always have to be good and helpful and why were you so perfect?” Tony groused. He blinked slowly at Steve, dark eyes drifting shut and jerking open in shock as if he couldn’t believe he was allowing himself to drift off like he was. “Dad worshiped you. Everything about you he loved. It was disgusting.”

“The feelings were most definitely not returned,” Steve murmured. He shrugged shyly and looked down at their hands on the bottle of whiskey. 

“No, because you had your sweet little aunt Peggy and Bucky.”

“Not always,” Steve countered. 

“You were special,” Tony groused petulantly.

“I’m not though. I’m just a regular guy, Tony.”

“You were never a regular guy. Dad worshiped the ground you walked on. He adored the comics and the movies and he loved everything about you,” Tony murmured. His voice slurred with the amount of alcohol he’d already consumed and the exhaustion that was pouring through him. 

“You need to sleep. Let me have the bottle, Tony. I’ll let you have it tomorrow.” 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“Why not?”

“Too weak,” Tony slurred. “I can’t sleep. Yinsen and Raza. They won’t leave me alone.” 

“Want me to stay?” Steve asked instead of insisting. He knew that pushing Tony would only lead to him being contrary and ornery and he wanted the engineer to rest, especially when he was so obviously exhausted. 

“So noble,” Tony grunted. “You’re gonna stick around even though I’m an asshole.”

Steve didn’t say anything but Tony’s hand was loosening around the bottle and he took the opportunity to take the bottle from him. Tony only made a grunt of frustration before he straightened out on the couch. His limbs were loose with exhaustion and the numbing effect that alcohol had. Steve felt bad for him, hated seeing him work himself into this state, but that was Tony’s modus operandi. He lived to work and he worked to drive himself to the very limit of his endurance. One day, he would convince Tony to take better care of himself. 

Steve set the bottle to the side of the couch and pushed Tony’s pliant body around the couch until it looked like he was comfortable. Standing, he sighed again and left to get a blanket, ignoring the grumbles that escaped incoherently from Tony’s slack form. He pulled his blanket off of his bed, figured it would be a better option than his stale extra blanket from the closet. 

Tony was huddled in on himself facing the back of the couch when Steve returned; his arms pulled protectively up to his chest and his knees curled up to his stomach. He looked younger in sleep, less haunted by his past. Steve draped the blanket over Tony’s body and tucked it in around him, unable to stop the fond smile that appeared without permission. He felt warmth for the engineer and a sudden desperate need to make sure he would never have to struggle like this again. 

He settled down in front of the couch, in front of Tony’s curled in form and folded his legs in front of him. It was going to be a long night, but Steve didn’t mind at all.


End file.
